


Wool Blanket

by passionatememes



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sort Of, beholding being annoying, the lonely being annoying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:01:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22122244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passionatememes/pseuds/passionatememes
Summary: Jon wakes up anxious after a nightmare and has bad coping mechanisms
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 3
Kudos: 154





	Wool Blanket

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno this is the first fic i've written in YEARS but TMA hurts me and i need more content or I'll die

Jon awoke with a strangled cry and sat up harshly, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he drew blood so as not to make additional sounds. He looked wildly around in the dark, sorting reality from dreams. He didn't recognize where he was, maybe he had been kidnapped again? Had the Hunters finally come for him? Was this it, his luck finally running out, was--

a sigh escaped his lips as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings, recognized the wood panels of the bedroom in Daisy's safehouse. He looked over, relief washing over him as he was met with the sight of Martin, still fast asleep, snoring softly. 

He was fine. He was  _ fine _ . Everything was fine.

Jon untangled himself from the fraying blankets and grabbed his glasses in trembling hands. He didn't necessarily  _ need _ them anymore, hadn't since he had woken up from the coma, but it felt better to still wear them. Reassuring, somehow. He almost stumbled over the shirt he had dropped the night before, not having the energy to put it in its proper place, but managed to get to the door without any mishaps. He glanced back at the bed with his hand on the doorknob. Martin was still fast asleep and Jon's heart twisted traitorously, wanting desperately to wake him up and ask him for comfort, to be held and reassured. He had no doubt Martin would be happy to do so, but he… he couldn't. Martin deserved to get a full night's rest, and Jon deserved… well, he decided his issues weren't important enough to encroach on Martins rest.

He dealt with nightmares all the time. He'd be  _ fine _ . Best not to disturb Martin. Jon turned the doorknob and left the bedroom as quietly as he could, closing the door gently behind him with shaking hands. 

Now what? 

There’s a restless, anxious energy buzzing under his skin, as he pulls the knitted blanket off the couch and wraps it around his body. He is pacing now, not really thinking, just walking around the room on autopilot. His fingers start twisting the wool around them, in and in and in and into themselves. He needs something, anything to stop his brain from thinking itself into a hole he can't get out of. 

He picks up a book, flips through a few pages before setting it down violently. Tries breathing exercises, but there's not enough  _ there _ to occupy his brain. Maybe a video game? No, it's not the right type of distraction, and a movie in the old VCR player is worse, too much nothing all at once, and too  _ loud _ . He's twisting the blanket harder now with one hand and fluttering the fingers of the other before he clenches his fist and then shakes it out. Repeats the process. It hurts. His skin is dry to the point of cracking. He's exhausted, he's restless, anxious, and he's  _ hungry _ .

Jon watches the sun rise miserably from the kitchen window. 

He Knows that he's been awake for five hours and twenty-two minutes since he had the nightmare. He also Knows the exact chemical makeup of the fibers of the blanket, and that there is currently a sheep giving birth a fair distance away. And that there's a family of mice making their home in the shed. And that the milk in the fridge will go bad in exactly three days and six hours, fifty-three minutes, and two seconds (one second, now six hours fifty-two minutes and fifty-nine seconds, fifty-eight, fifty-seve-). And that there is another. fucking.  _ spider _ . making its home in the corner of the shower. Not a supernatural one, but couldn’t they have the decency to leave him  _ alone _ ?! And that--

The sun is up properly now, and Jon is back to pacing around the living room. 

He flinches and snaps his head up to look at the bedroom door as it opens and Martin walks out. 

Flinches again when he sees his expression and doesn't need to use any beholding powers to know that Martin is also having a rough morning, with the weak attempt at a smile and the fog creeping into the corners of the living room. Jon can't meet his eyes and instead stares at the disaster of the living room, with his attempts at distraction scattered all around. The old TV is playing the movie he had tried to watch. Jon hadn't noticed, but now Knows that this is the third run-through of the film, after the VCR rewinded it and played it automatically over and over. Books are placed haphazardly around the room and the blanket has been dragging behind him picking up dust for hours. 

Jon almost stops breathing as a wave of guilt flows over him, for the mess, for leaving Martin to wake up in an empty bed, which Jon  _ knows _ Martin hates despite his attempts to tell him it's fine. For his stupid fucking brain making him anxious despite the fact that he's  _ fine _ and everything is  _ fine _ and he has no right to be  _ like this _ after all this time.

He shakes a hand out and goes back to pacing around the couch. Eyes on the ground. 

He hears Martin step over his laptop on the ground and around the puzzle he had started and left unfinished. His footsteps get softer as he disappears into the kitchen, the fog following him and muting the sounds of his movement. Jon miserably stares after him and bites his lip so hard it bleeds. 

There is now a fresh cup of tea on the table for him. Jon picks it up and holds it tight, clinging to the warmth. Somewhere in the house, a tape recorder plays an old statement. 

Later, he will find Martin curled up in the too-big bed. He will murmur apologies and they will hold each other tightly and chase the fog and the anxiety away. Jon will give small soft kisses all over Martin's face and kiss his tears away, and Martin will tell him over and over that he loves him and that he should wake him up if he has a bad night. They both will doze through the afternoon and get up for a late dinner, still exhausted, but no longer feeling terrible. Jon will clean up his mess and Martin will cook. 

For now, though, Jon twists his fingers in the wool blanket.


End file.
